


Out

by starforged



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 16:50:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3617133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starforged/pseuds/starforged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slight spoilers for the season finale. Bellamy realizes that dealing with teenagers also means dealing with stupid decisions. Like walking away without supplies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out

It’s not an immediate decision by any means. Bellamy thinks, for the first few hours, that he really doesn’t need to think. He doesn’t need to plan or worry for maybe a few minutes more, because his goal is complete. He went in, he saved his stupid friends, they got out.

He got out.

But there’s this itch at the back of his mind that he knows is Clarke shaped that he is trying to ignore. He did what he could, he tells himself.

He doesn’t blame her for anything that happened. They’re all stupid kids that found themselves in a dangerous situation that they could have never prepared for. He doesn’t blame her, but that means shit when she is so burdened by her own guilt. By the people she’s killed.

He stops in the middle of a conversation with Miller to stare down at his hands. 

Bellamy thinks of Lovejoy.

He thinks of his son.

His hands shake for a moment, and he thinks of his hand over Clarke’s as they pulled the lever.

He thinks of Monty’s face as he watches them, half hopeful that it wasn’t happening.

“Bellamy?” Miller sounds far away, like at the end of a tunnel. 

Bellamy blinks back into reality, arching an eyebrow up at him. “What.”

But Miller doesn’t say anything, as if he can’t quite find the words. Bellamy gives a tight smile, claps his friend on the shoulder. They’ve seen too much, he realizes. They’ve been through too much for words to really make anything feel somewhat good.

He still manages to keep up with Camp Jaha and the subdued festivities of the kids returning “home” until one question sends him retreating.

“Hey, where’s Finn?” Jasper asks in a rasping voice, looking from him to Octavia.

Clarke should be here, Bellamy thinks. He shouldn’t have let her run off like she did. It was cowardly, he decides. The wrong decision. She’s their leader. Well, their _other_ leader. He’s not about to just give up that position of power he worked for. But she is the logic to his emotion, whether he wants to admit it or not.

He slumps to his cot, head in his hands. _Where’s Finn?_

_If you need forgiveness, I’ll give it to you._

Part of him is mad at Clarke for leaving this way, as if she’s solely responsible for everything that has happened to them, and if that’s the case, then she should accept responsibility. She should act like the leader she tried to be. 

Go down with the ship, he wants to yell at her.

Except she’s not here.

She’s out _there_ , in the wild. No allies, no supplies, no weapons.

Bellamy lets out a low groan. Stupid, _stupid_. Of course she went off like that, like some kind of teenager throwing a fit. and he _let her_ with nothing to keep her safe on her journey to nowhere.

\--

It’s hours after Clarke has left.

The sun has set, the forest dark. But he still manages to find her huddled under a tree, her arms wrapped around her legs with her face buried in the space between the crack of her knees.

“If you’re asleep, I swear I’ll drag you back to camp over my shoulder.”

Clarke’s head snaps up, and even in the dim light that his flashlight is giving him, he can see how red her eyes are, how puffy. There’s a panicky kind of look on her face, but she doesn’t move into a defensive position. Doesn’t ready herself for an attack.

Either she knew right away that it was him, or she’s a lot more fatalistic than he expects from her.

With a roll of his eyes, he slides his pack off his shoulders. She eyes it warily, like it’s about to attack her. Like he’s really about to sling her like a sack of potatoes. Or like some Neanderthal taking his bride back to his warm cave, which, honestly, seems like a better idea than being out in the open here.

But that’s just Bellamy’s opinion.

“What are you doing here, Bellamy?” Her voice is throaty, rough.

He doesn’t like the way it makes him feel to keep hearing that sound from her. “I wasn’t really fitting in well.”

The look she gives him calls him out on his bullshit without the need for words. 

He shrugs, unzips the pack, and pulls out some kind of granola bar he swiped when nobody was looking. She watches like a starving dog when he takes a bite.

“What are you _doing?”_

“Eating,” he says around a mouthful of dry granola. “Long journeys make me hungry.” Another bite, and he swears she’s drooling already. “You know, sometimes when you decide to go away for everyone’s good, it’s smart to bring things with you.”

She glowers at him. “Don’t be a dick, Bellamy, I wasn’t exactly going to sneak into camp just to steal supplies.”

He holds out the half eaten granola bar to her. She still watches it warily. “Good thing I have the brains between the two of us then, Princess.”

She still doesn’t take it. “So you came out here to find me and leave me a bag?”

“No,” Bellamy tells her. “This is my bag. It’s not my fault you didn’t want to sneak into camp.” He waves the bar at her. “Last chance.”

Clarke doesn’t even grab the thing from him; she just takes a hungry bite while he still holds it.


End file.
